In Danger There is Love
by noendnogoodbyes
Summary: Ana realizes her husband Christian may not be who she thought he was. She thinks he's having an affair. Christian knows it's not true. When they are thrust into danger and have to resort to going on the run to save themselves from dangerous men after them with guns, can they not only save their marriage but settle Ana's doubts about his fidelity along the way? CIA Christian/Ana AU
1. Chapter 1

**_In Danger There is Love..._**

He's cheating on me.

It is the first thought that comes into my head as I go through our washing; my eyes landing on the red smeared splotches that resemble lipstick stains on both the sleeve and collar of the white business shirt he'd worn just last yesterday for work.

My husband had already left to work early as usual, seven thirty each morning.

It had started out like every morning; The alarm clock would go off in bed and we'd both groan in annoyance to be woken from it. He'd turn it off, lean over and kiss me lovingly, always in the two same places. First around my bare back and shoulder blades while pushing the long dark strands of my hair out of the way gently with his fingers. Then once, lingeringly on my forehead.

I'd try to doze back off to sleep knowing it wouldn't go off again until another hour later, where I'd have to get up myself and get ready to work. Although Christian made enough money for us to live on, I wasn't happy being your usual run-of-the-mill stay-at-home wife. I felt happier contributing even if I didn't contribute as well enough financially as he did.

I worked shifts occasionally at a Hardware store downtown to make a little bit of money on the side while Christian worked as CEO to one of the most successful companies in Seattle; Grey Enterprises Holdings.

He'd left before I'd gotten up and once my alarm had went off, I did as I usually did; Make the bed, take a quick shower. Then I'd put on my fluffy bathrobe and head downstairs to do some washing and make myself a cup of coffee and some breakfast before getting dressed and heading off myself for my shift.

I'd gone into our laundry room to get started on our washing, separating the whites from the colors. That's when I'd noticed the stain on the messy shirt he'd chucked into the basket the night before.

All the oxygen seems to leave me in shock, my brain going numb as I hold the shirt closer to my eyes, trying to sort out if it is actually another woman's lipstick or not. I pick at the red spot with my fingernails trying to work it off. It doesn't come off easily.

I know the lipstick definitely doesn't belong to me.

Lately I haven't been wearing any lipstick much, because Christian always assured me he loves the natural look on me best and had always complimented me on my supposed 'natural beauty' in his own eyes. And yet, here it is, staining his shirt not only once but twice? Has another woman's lips really been that close to my husband? Not only close enough to brush her mouth on the collar of his shirt right near his neck, but also... his wrist and sleeve as well?

I know there should be some simple logical explanation for this. Maybe he accidentally got it on him? Or maybe it's paint or blood? Maybe it isn't even a smear of a woman's lipstick just as I fear it is?

Isn't it the most cliche thing in the world in finding another woman's lipstick on your husband's clothes? Something played in an over-exaggerated Lifetime movie to signal the husband's infidelity?

Bunching it up into a tight fist while shaking my head, I throw the shirt in the washing machine then gather all of our other clothes, tossing them in as well.

Still my mind refuses to accept any other logical scenario for the red stain being there. All it seems to want to acknowledge is the worst, any woman's most dreaded fears and nightmare.

He's cheating on me. My husband of 3 years, the man I thought was happy and content in our marriage... that we'd be together happily and wholly committed to each other for the rest of our lives... he's cheating with another woman.

Pouring in the washing liquid, I slam the machine lid down a bit too forcefully than necessary. As I reach down to grab all the colored clothes on the floor while starting the load, snatching every dirty clothing and towel up and chucking it violently into the basket to wash later, I break down; an uncontrollable sob escaping my mouth as I tremble.

I never expected us to end up this way. I honestly never expected I'd be here, suspicious like this, being trapped in such a helpless situation like this, where I'd discover my husband- a man that seems so loyal, seems so tender and loving- is actually doing something so wrong behind my back betraying my trust and what we've built together.

...

I'd met Christian overseas while holidaying 4 years earlier.

I'd just graduated from college and, after having saved up relentlessly to support myself, I had decided to travel and see the world, gain some experience. First, it was London, because I'd had an obsession with the place as an English Literature student and I wanted to experience firsthand what all my favorite authors such as Bronte or Hardy, lived through. Then it was France.

I'd picked a rather bad time to go there. Something had happened that morning as I was walking in the markets, checking out the sights. Someone had set off explosives near the area- my first terrifying experience of being near the danger-zone in a foreign country.

I'd walked hastily to the nearest shelter I could find as the French military where called in. There was a small inn not too far from the explosion near the markets and I'd gone in there for cover. That was when I was being bombarded with questions by a group of French military men. Apparently I'd seemed suspicious; a girl of 22 just roaming around alone all by herself. They wanted to know who I was with and what affiliation I'd even had with the inn.

"Madame!" A militia barked. "Madame, vous etes seul?" He was now in my face, as if daring me to ignore him.

My expression remained calm though I was panicked at the situation I'd found myself in. I hadn't had this happen to me before, and my eyes had wandered around the room, searching for a possible escape or a reasonable way to get myself out of any potential trouble. I wasn't entirely fluent with the language so I felt helpless, trying to get the translator book I'd brought out of my backpack.

Then, as if the universe knew my distress I'd spotted another guest; a gentlemen looking to be about in his late twenties or early thirties.

He sat propped against the check-in desk as the officers noticed him next. As if getting bored with me he was next, being hounded by the same officers shouting into his ear as well. His demeanor however was much more calm and aloof than mine was.

He wore black alligator shoes; fitted black jeans and a white button up shirt that showed off his collarbone and his muscular, toned arms. Accentuating his left wrist was a black diamond Rolex, and white Ray Ban sunglasses sat on the bridge of his nose, and he just so happened to be staring directly at me. His hair was tousled and a reddish brown, combed back. I liked the look of him the instance I'd laid eyes on him and, apparently, he'd felt the same way. He had twirled a toothpick on his tongue, his piercing grey eyes locked on my own never once breaking away.

He gave a slight nod toward my direction and I took that as my cue.

Before I knew what I was doing, I coolly walked over with a honeymoon smile forced on my lips, ignoring the officers grabbing at my arm. He also began stepping toward me, reaching out for my hand and intertwining our fingers. Apparently we'd had the same idea in mind; That was to play pretend as a couple travelling together to shake the officers off of us.

"Détendez-vous idiots, elle est avec moi," He had said in a commanding tone to the officers, speaking smoothly in French.

He then had given a smirk and a flirtatious wink to one of the officers as he lead me into one of the open rooms and closed the door, locking it behind us. I immediately leaned my ear against the door listening for any further signs of trouble.

The man also propped himself against the door next to me as a sigh left him, leaning his head back against the door.

"Hi, I'm Ana. Anastasia Steele," I whispered, looking up into his shades, throwing in a genuine smile. "Do you speak, um, English? I'm from America?"

"Same," he'd answered back much to my relief. "I'm American myself. Christian," he stated, his voice sounding like melted butter or something delicious as he'd held his hand out to me. "Christian Grey. It's a pleasure to meet you."

I'd put my hand out as well with a shy smile, shaking his. His grip had been confident, strong, as we'd shaken hands.

Strangely enough later that night we'd actually gone out to dinner together.

He was probably the most attractive man I had ever met. Also there was some familiarity and comfort there in knowing I was with another American in a foreign country. He'd admitted to me that he was there on business; he'd told me about his family and how he was adopted and I'd hung off his every charismatic word.

He'd also been the first man to pay true attention to me, to make me feel as though I were truly something interesting and beautiful. I'd explained to him how I was travelling, how I'd graduated and how I'd wanted to see more of the world.

We had ended up heading back to America together where he'd introduced me to his family. It had all happened so quickly where suddenly we were inseparable and I was meeting his family and being introduced as his girlfriend.

He'd taken me out on quite a lot of dates and dinners together, back at home. I'd fit in really well and easily with his parents, and especially, with his little sister Mia. I suppose that was what also nudged him into making the next serious move which was asking me to marry him. I hadn't thought twice of accepting his proposal; because I'd loved him, the first man I had ever felt this way about.

And even now, 4 years later and married I still love him. My love for him hadn't waned over the years. But could he still say the same for me? Did he still love me in the same way he had at the start of our relationship before we got married? Judging by the lipstick smear on the collar and sleeve of his shirt, apparently not.

...

Work offers me the distraction I much find I need at Clayton's Hardware store.

The instance I get in for my shift I'm bombarded with customers needing help with various plumbing items, spanners and other tools. I enjoy this job even if working is more of a hobby to me than a necessity considering my husband earns so much. I find it gives me a reason to feel busy and useful.

As I help a customer with selecting the best rope, this morning and what I found comes back to me. My stomach lurches in uneasiness as I try to forget it and focus on helping the man in front of me but it isn't easy.

I finish my shift in 4 hours and I find myself dreading arriving home tonight; Usually I can't wait to finish and get home to spend some quality time with my husband, speaking about our days over a few indulgent glasses of wine.

But tonight after noticing what I did on his shirt, being around my husband, trying to seem normal around Christian while at the back of my mind fretting about how they met and how long it's been going on, him and this mystery woman, it makes me feel sick.

How dare he do this to me? How could he do this to us?

Sadly time doesn't stop just because I'm dreading it. My time to knock off arrives and I head back out into the parking lot after my shift, getting into my car while checking for any missed phone calls. That sick sensation comes again, my stomach knotted in dread as I see listed a missed call from my husband.

I know he will get suspicious or concerned if I don't call him back so I focus on breathing deeply and keeping my cool while sitting against the steering wheel, holding the phone up to my ear. He answers after the second ring.

"Hey, baby, I tried to ring you earlier but you hadn't answered." Usually when I hear Christian's voice on the phone, it's enough to send me wild and missing him. Not today. I feel ill with nerves at how carelessly happy he sounds on the other line. How dare he act all Mr Innocent and as if there is nothing wrong here? How dare he act like he isn't touching some other woman or kissing her? "I was just trying to call earlier on to see if there's anything you wish for me to pick up on the way home from work?" Playing the Devoted Considerate Husband, he often asked me if there was anything I'd want for him to bring home.

 _How about you leave the house for good,_ I wish I could cry. _I saw the shirt, Christian. I know what you've been doing. How dare you break our wedding vows like this?_

But I can't say that. Instead I inhale in deeply while trying to seem emotionless. "Um, no, everything's good," I mutter as normally as I can. "We don't need anything."

"Oh. OK then." Tears roll down my cheeks and, forgetting myself, I sniffle loudly while wiping my runny nose. "Baby, are you OK?" He's picked up onto it, damn it. He's picked up onto how strange my voice sounds and the fact that I'm all sniffly, like I'm crying. "You sound upset? Did something happen with your shift?"

 _Yes, something did happen and yes I am upset. I know the truth now about what you've been up to you bastard!_

"No, I...I'm fine, Christian. I'm on my way home."

"OK, me too." I can tell he's not entirely convinced and that he's tempted to ask more. But to my relief he doesn't. "I'll see you soon?"

"Yes. See you soon." I hang up just before the tears start again, shutting my phone as I slump over the steering wheel.

The pain I feel over his betrayal, the hollow ache in my chest, it's unlike anything I have ever felt before in my entire life. How do other people manage to go through this and still come out alive on the other side?

I know I can't sit in the parking lot forever much as I wish I could. I start the car then reverse out, trying to blink my tears away and blurriness in my eyes while driving. I just cannot stop thinking about it; how his voice even sounded on the phone. He had the gall to sound so normal, so loving and tender. How could he do this to me?

As I reach the house, I pull up into the driveway, my heart jumping anxiously in my chest as I look around frantically while trying to dry my eyes. He isn't standing in the yard but his car is parked there in the driveway where it usually is in his usual spot.

I wonder if she works with him, if she's an assistant or something like that. I know Christian has a lot of blonde female assistants at work, most of them fairly young and beautiful.

I see the front door of the house opening. Then my husband appears.

Fearfully I consider putting the car into reverse. I consider backing straight out of the driveway and speeding away as I see him start to walk to where I'm still sitting in my car. He walks over the front of the car towards the drivers side still dressed in his work suit and tie. I wonder if she's kissed him today. I wonder if there's more lipstick on his shirt that I'll have to wash to get rid of.

Before I know it my philandering husband is at my window.

He opens the door before I can manage to yank it shut again, his face immediately coming into view through the tinted window.

I used to find him so handsome- the most handsome man in the world. I used to love his eyes and how captivating and deep they were. Now all I can see is his eyes eye-molesting the woman he's cheating on me with. Now all I can see is his lips over hers and his hands roaming down her body as he touches her intimately in all the way's he used to touch me.

"Ana?" He leans down to meet my gaze while holding the door open for me, his face falling as his eyes scrutinize my face attentively. I hate that he knows me so well. He knows when somethings up even when I try to hide it. "You sounded upset on the phone, baby. Are you OK?"

 _4 years. We've been together 4 years and he does this to me?_

I very nearly jump out of my seat when he presses his hand up against my shoulder, rubbing his fingers over my bare shoulder blade. I want to shake his hand off in disgust. His touch sickens me now in a way I never thought it ever would. Never with Christian. Never with my husband.

"Ana?" He eyes me warily. "Has something happened? Something with Ray?" My father Ray has been having health issues lately. The fact he brings that up now... it almost sends me over the edge.

When should I tell him that I know? Later tonight while making dinner? During dinner? During sex? Christian and I have always had a very adventurous sex life together, something tells me during sex would be dangerous. Besides, I hardly feel in the mood to fake it without being physically sick with the knowledge that he does it with other women. And probably often.

Dinnertime, I decide, shaking my head. Forcing myself out of it I smile weakly. "No, Ray's great as far as I know. I'm fine. Really." I'll bring it up later tonight during dinner.

...

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to broach the subject during dinner after all?

I find my appetite is non-existent. I end up simply picking at my food at the dining room table while Christian sits beside me, easily eating and slicing through his steak. I prepared him his favorite meal tonight and he's enjoying it as usual. How ironic.

"Why aren't you eating?" It barely takes my husband little more than thirty seconds to notice I haven't eaten anything.

He's always been overly concerned about my eating habits. Even when we first met before we got married, in France he was commanding me to try Escargot and frog's legs- any meal we could both safely sink our teeth into together.

I bring my eyes up from my plate to glance at him, my stomach a bundled knot of nerves as well as other things. He stares at me, his eyes lit with concern as he chews slowly.

 _You bastard,_ I think to myself. _Enjoying your favorite meal there that I just slaved away and made for you even while knowing you've been unfaithful?_

I just gaze at him, unable to somehow find the strength to ask what I know I should. The answer, if he does confirm it, I know it will slay me even worse.

"For Christ's sake, Ana. Will you please tell me what's wrong, baby?" He suddenly erupts, shoving his plate away on the table roughly. He drops his fork and knife on top of his half-eaten plate of food loudly, staring at me. His eyes are desperate and pleading yet there's irritation there in his voice. "You're driving me crazy. In fact, you've been doing it ever since you pulled up into the driveway so please, just tell me..."

It's too hard to stare at him and look him in the eye. If I'm going to do it it will be easier if I don't look at him. Instead I drop my gaze, staring at the large mound of untouched steak on my plate instead. This is going to slay me either way.

Breathing in deeply then out while trying to suppress back a sob, I finally say, "I know what you've been doing, Christian. I found the stains on your shirt."

It's very quiet after that. Neither he says anything nor I.

Annoyed by the silence, I reluctantly lift my gaze, staring at him. He's staring at me, very still, all the color drained from his face. _What? Is he shocked that I've admitted that I know he's been cheating? Is this the look of a guilty man caught in the act?_

After what seems years, he moves, resting both elbows on the table in the space where his plate was earlier before he shoved it away. He interlinks his fingers together then rests his chin on the top of his knuckles, his grey wide eyes holding mine. I think he's even holding in his breath; he's so shocked.

"How could you do this to me?" I choke out as a waterfall of emotion runs through me. "How could you betray me like this, Christian? 4 years only for you to do this to me?"

At last I see something there in his face, an expression. His eyebrows furrow as he swallows audibly at me. "Do what, Ana?" he whispers and he actually has the nerve to sound confused. "What have I done to you? What are you saying that I've apparently done to betray you?"

So many conflicting urges hit me at once. I want to break down laughing derisively at his words and at his performance of playing Mr Confused and Innocent. At the same time I want to cry loudly. Scream. Smash things.

"Who is she, Christian?" I demand forcefully. I see recognition form in his eyes as they widen larger. His mouth parts as a gasp escapes him. "Somebody from work maybe? One of your assistants?"

"Jesus Christ, Ana!" I startle at how unexpectedly loud his voice is when he drops a hand, slamming it roughly down on the table. Our wine glasses and plates rattle at the force of it. "Who is she? Are you fucking kidding me- _this_ is what you think?" He speaks through gritted teeth, his grey eyes flaring. " _This_ is how I've apparently betrayed you? You think I'm having an affair so that's why you've been acting so strange all day?"

"I don't just think, Christian, I know! I saw the lipstick stains on the collar and sleeve of the shirt you wore yesterday to work!"

"What lipstick stain?" He stands so abruptly that he knocks the chair back, making me jump. "Ana, have you any idea how ridiculous that is? How... wrong it is to think that I could ever even cheat on you? You really think so little of me?"

This is enough. I've really heard enough. Lies. It's all lies. I cannot take it anymore.

"I'm leaving," I whisper decidedly. "Maybe I'll stay at your sister Mia's for a couple of days if she'll have me, but... all I know is that I can't handle your lies, Christian." Tears start to slip down my face as I get to my feet myself. I need to pack a few things for my stay. I just hope he won't try to plead me with or turn on the waterworks because I know I won't be able to handle it. I know what I saw. I know what this means. "You don't know how much this has hurt me to think you could possibly do something like this to me."

"Ana, please. Will you listen to what you're saying for just a second?" His voice is low, husky and gentle. Desperate even. "You know me. Do you really think this is something I would do? To us?"

I ignore him with all my might, marching towards the flight of stairs.

"Ana, baby?" He calls after me urgently and I know he's on my heels the second I dash up the stairs. His loud footsteps follow me, his breathing loud and shaky. "Ana, please. You know I would never do this to us."

Fortunately I reach our bedroom before he can. I slam the door, managing to flick the lock so he can't get in. Thank goodness for locking doors.

"Ana?" I startle nervously when he pounds on the wood of the door, his voice loud, harsh. "Ana, will you open this goddamn door so we can talk face-to-face like civilized adults for a minute here? Baby, just let me explain!"

That's the thing though. I can't listen to him explain. It will break me. I just don't know what to think. I burst out sobbing as I slide the suitcase we use for vacations out from beneath the bed towards me. Then I rush to grab all of my clothes and other personal belongings.

I'm just shoving some clean pairs of underwear and lingerie into the suitcase when I hear a loud smashing noise. I jolt in fear, my heart racing in panic as I flinch, listening carefully. Shit, did he just break something? Did he just smash something? It sounded like glass breaking. Usually he's never been this violent, not ever. But at least he isn't pounding or bashing the bedroom door in.

Noises get even worse as I rush to pack some other clothes. I hear an odd knocking noise as if someone's being flung into a wall. Then there's another loud thumping noise against a wall. What the hell is he doing to our house?

The door rattles next and I gasp, recoiling in fear as another banging noise echoes from the wall.

"Ana, baby?" Christian's voice sounds exhausted and drained, like he's doing something laborious that requires all of his mental effort. Is he trying to break down the door or something? "Ana, just stay inside the bedroom, OK?"

I shriek and jump into the air when I hear Christian curse loudly, then there's another noise. Something slams into the locked bedroom door then bounces off it, making a dent in the wood. What the heck is he doing?

"Christian?" I call anxiously, my voice high. "Are you- are you tearing the h-h-house apart or something?" When he doesn't answer, I tread slowly towards the door, my mouth dry. "Christian?"

I can't just stay here in bedroom like this. I need to know what's happening. I need to know if he's wrecking our house.

Bracing myself I reach forward, lifting up to unlock the door as quietly as possible. The instance it clicks gently unlocked I get it over with, grasping onto the doorknob tightly. I have no idea what he's doing but I need to know. Has my husband gone crazy or something?

Opening the door just so that a small slit is left I move over, peering through it. That's when I see the man curled over on the floor, knocked out or possibly even dead with some sort of ski-mask over his head covering his face so he isn't in anyway identifiable. Next to his leg untouched and forgotten, is a long shotgun.

What the hell?

"Ana?" I scream in fright and fall back the instance Christian uses his entire body weight to push himself into the bedroom. He whirls around, locking the door up again on the both of us, breathing raggedly like he's just been exercising strenuously.

As he moves away from the door to turn to look back at me, my heart seizes in my chest. I have no idea what is happening or who that man is out there with the rifle, but... He's been hurt. Christian has a bleeding nose and there's a torn gash through the fabric of his dress shirt on his left arm. It looks like he has been cut by something like a knife at the arm but why? What the hell is happening?

"Ana, we have to leave right now." His voice is quiet but panicked as he moves past me, starting to open drawers, gathering his own clothes to shove into my suitcase as well.

"What?" I whisper out, confused. "Christian, w-what the hell is going on? W-w-why is there a man knocked out outside our bedroom door?"

Christian turns to glance at me halfway through what he's doing, his fingers tentatively touching the blood on his nose. "Baby, not now please," he murmurs pleadingly beneath his breath. "I'll explain everything later but right now, we need to get out of here."

" _We_?" I repeat hysterically, eyeing my suitcase in irritation as he keeps putting his own things in there. " _We_ need to get out of here, Christian? I just told you that I'm leaving you! I'm going to stay at your-"

"-Is that everything?" he shouts over me while turning to look at me questioningly, his eyes bright, alert. "Is there anything else you need to bring with you?"

What? "Are you even listening to me? I said that-"

"-Ana, we don't have the fucking time for this!" he snaps at me unexpectedly. I freeze warily. He's usually not like this; So antsy and desperate. What the hell is happening? "Look if you feel like leaving me still later on, I'll take you to Mia's once it's safe, OK?"

"Safe? Safe from what?" My eyes widen as I make the mental connection. The man outside the door unconscious. The rifle. Is someone trying to attack us? But why? "F-from men like the one outside the bedroom door that's knocked out?" I ask him shakily as Christian zips the suitcase up hastily. "They had a gun? A-a-are they trying to kill us?"

"Baby, please," he pants while searching into his pockets. He flings out his car keys. "I'll explain everything to you later but please we have to go before more arrive."

More arrive? "M-more arrive? Like that man outside the bedroom door?"

"Ana!" He shouts again while combing a hand through his hair. He grabs the handle on the suitcase, wrenching it off the bed. When he meets my gaze, he looks at me in a way I've never seen my own husband look before. His eyes are wide with fear illuminated in them. "Please we have to get out of here," he says, dropping his voice to a mere whisper, a beg. "Once we're in the clear and it's safe to, I'll explain everything."

"Where?"

"Firstly to my car outside in the driveway." A flicker of pain crosses his features as he wipes at the blood delicately around his nose again. "You follow behind me, OK? If I make any noise, you stand back out of the way." Reaching up while holding the suitcase, he opens the door again, peering out.

He throws a glance back at me to check and make sure I'm behind him. I still don't understand what's happening and I can't say I particularly trust this man right now that is supposedly to be my husband. But despite the affair and the stains of lipstick, this I cannot doubt. I cannot doubt that he always thinks of me above his self. He is always serious when it comes to my own safety. I know that even if he is lying about the affair he wouldn't lie about this.

We are in danger and I should trust him in this despite how much my head is screaming at me not to on the inside. He wouldn't lie about something like this. Something is clearly badly wrong and we do need to leave immediately before it gets worse.

"Stay behind," he commands of me. Then he starts sneaking out the bedroom.

I keep a step behind him, trying to be obedient while at the same time trying not to get too close to the point where I'm cowering behind him like a child. I hold in my breath, frozen as I stare down at the unconscious man sprawled out near our bedroom door. We step over him carefully with Christian always checking to make sure I'm right on his heel and that I haven't fallen behind.

Rounding the corner of the stairs, I glance down the lower floor and wince. Everything is a mess. The entire house that we put effort into; a whole lot of effort and preparation and love to make it homely, is in a state of chaos. There's broken glass littering our rug. A few vases have been smashed. There's even a hole in the plaster wall near our kitchen- as if someone's punched straight through it.

"Did you do this?" I whisper as quietly as possible to Christian.

He whips his head around to look back at me, pressing his lips together in a tight thin line with a stern finger held up to his lips warning me to keep totally silent. His nose and all the blood. His forearm even. It looks terrible.

Christian goes first as we reach the stairs, putting one slow foot down on the step. And then the next foot, then the next. I follow his movements while glancing around nervously feeling on-edge. I'm almost waiting for someone to suddenly pop out and break the silence, frightening us.

On the last creak of the first and final step onto the lower floor near our area rug we glance around again cautiously. I'm not quite sure what Christian is looking for but I'm presuming it's another man wearing a ski-mask with a gun in his hand. Our front door is left hanging wide open, cold air breezing in.

Christian turns back to make sure I'm following him once more and I notice his stance is different than it usually is. His posture and stance is tense and rigid, his grip on the suitcase handle rather loose as if in case he needs to dispose of it quickly to use his fists. I've never seen my husband like this before. His grey eyes are bright, alert and wary as he peers in every which direction of the house as we slowly edge closer and closer to the open front door.

"We're almost there," he whispers back to me gently like he's reassuring me. "We're almost outside and to the car, baby. You're doing great so far."

I open my mouth to reply- then suddenly, we're falling backwards, Christian landing on top of me on the carpet. My legs go between his as his hands and arms cover and shield us both over our heads as it happens. There's another sound of shattering glass combined with an even louder, booming sound. A gunshot maybe? It occurs to me what Christian's doing and why he's on top of me as more broken sounds of glass and gunshots ring out. Every time a shot goes off, he'll go rigid on top of me, tightening his arms around our heads, holding me down pinned beneath him while tucking his warm face into the side of mine.

He's protecting me from the gunshots.

As the gunshots die down, Christian takes a chance, lifting his head slowly to glance forward ahead of us out the door and near the windows. He looks so hard, his jaw muscles tight. Judging that we're safe he carefully leans off me, gesturing wordlessly for us to move again. He seizes hold of the suitcase as I follow behind him again, a new terror and fear gripping ahold of me.

I had thought the idea of my husband having an affair was the worst nightmare in the world. But it's nothing compared to this.

 **Thank you for your reviews so far, wanting to respond to guest.**

 **Sorry, English is not my native language. I understand my writing is poor and more is desired, but no one is perfect. I always felt this website was for fans who enjoyed making their own stories based on their favorite characters, something done for own enjoyment and fun, not so much a place where someone can nitpick. I am not perfect at writing, I am just doing this for fun, so I apologize if it is that bad.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for your kind reviews. After that review, I did try to edit the story to make it flow better while taking the criticism into consideration. Thanks for the encouragement, and I do hope this chapter is okay. If there is any grammar or wording issues, feel free to let me know as I am not a native English speaker (only by trying to practice essentially).**

Chapter 2

"Christian, when are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?" I demand hysterically as we manage to get safely into the car. He throws the suitcase into the backseat while starting the Jeep up.

"Put your seat belt on," he says without so much as looking at me. Seeing as I'm freaking out too much to even incoherently process what is going on, I do as he says while peering around our yard nervously.

Fortunately we weren't cornered by any other scary ski-mask covered men with rifles on our way to his car. It was a smooth and easy way out the front door. Too smooth and easy, maybe. I keep waiting for something unpleasant to immediately happen.

I throw a look at my husband as he checks behind us for any pedestrians, then he starts reversing down the driveway. He stops, checking for traffic before he reverses out onto the road, wrenching his car into drive while flicking on the headlights so we can see visibly ahead of us since it is somewhat dark.

He still hasn't properly answered my question and I do need answers. Everything that had happened in the past ten minutes, it had happened so fast, so quickly. I cannot wrap my head around it but all I know is that there is a sense of danger emulating around us.

There's clearly someone dangerous out there looking to harm us. While I mightn't understand everything that is happening right now, I know this for a fact that Christian and I are obviously in some kind of life-threatening trouble.

"You did a great job back there, baby," he mutters gently like he's trying to both calm me and make me feel better. "You did wonderful under the stress."

As I dart my head towards him again, he meets my gaze with a tight smile as he navigates his Jeep easily out of our neighborhood area.

The smile doesn't touch his eyes- a sign that he's not feeling completely all that confident. I've been with the man for over 4 years, no matter how fake it all probably has been what with the affair. I've learned to read the man that is supposed to be my husband well.

"A-are you going to answer my question or not?" I ask shakily, my voice too unsteady. "Can you please tell me what the hell is going on right now?" My voice rises with hysteria as I stare at the side of his face, noting the way Christian will keep darting a look through the rearview mirror. "I-I mean you _did_ say to me in the house back there that you'd eventually explain everything to me? You owe me that much, don't you?"

He sighs long and hard while gripping the steering wheel in both hands. Without preparing me, he takes a sudden right turn, the tires squealing as I fling back into the side of the door.

"Jesus," I snap quietly, rubbing my elbow at the impact. He gives me an apologetic look. Then I catch how fast he's going on the lit up speedometer. "Do you really think it's necessary to drive so fast?" By this rate I wouldn't be surprised if we get pulled over by the cops. He's speeding so fast I can hear the engine roaring loudly.

Usually my husband never speeds, especially not in his black Jeep. This Jeep, to him, has always been his pride and joy; Something he'd obsess over and wash meticulously so it was sparkling clean. Christian had told me earlier on during the first year of our marriage that he had always wanted a Jeep. He had explained to me that he likes how many seats there are in Jeep's, how spacious and appropriate they seem to be for a young family. I guess he had the idea of us having children on the cards in the future someday. But now the idea of having children with _this man_ , this man I feel I barely even know right now, it's barely digestible.

"Yes, I do. I _do_ find it necessary to speed right now. We're in trouble," he says exasperated.

"Yeah and I think I already had that figured out the minute I saw that man outside the bedroom on the floor with a rifle next to him, Christian," I mutter back mulishly. "Not only that but when we were getting shot at through the windows too. Why would someone want to shoot at us?"

"I don't know the answer to that yet but I'm making sure we're not being followed."

Even although I'd already suspected that was what he was doing, it still hits me brutally by him confirming it. My heart races in panic, a wave of nausea settling in. _Shit, someone could be following us. What the hell has he done to have gotten us into this situation?_

"By those men?" I ask, scrambling to make sense of it all. "Like that one in the h-h-house with the face mask and the gun? There could be more of them?"

"Probably. Yes. I'm not sure!" He swears beneath his breath while slamming a hand down on the steering wheel angrily. "It's likely that there's more of them, Ana. Plenty more of them."

I swallow dryly at his words. _Plenty more of them._ "S-so why are they after us? You didn't exactly say?" My voice is a breathy, squeaky whisper as my eyes dart back to the mirror myself. Again, there's no sign of any cars following us from behind. Maybe the people that shot inside the house at us had just done a drive-by and had sped off afterwards, assuming both of us had been fatally shot or injured?

"Remember how we met?" he asks me, throwing a quick look in my direction, his eyebrows raised.

"Y-yes, of course I remember how we met." That day four years ago, in France, near the marketplace. He'd been at the inn where I had stumbled into, afraid and searching for shelter from the explosions outside. "In France at that... that inn?"

"And remember when I'd told you about me being there mainly for business?" He glances my way again quickly to make sure I'm following. "How I said I work as CEO to a company I own and that I was there for a meeting with shareholders?"

"Y-yes." I remember that clearly. I even remember feeling so impressed and fascinated while he'd told me that. I had found it so impressive that a man his age, a handsome man barely reaching into his early thirties, could be so successful in life; that he even had a thriving business that he owned.

"Well, there you go." He says it as if it's meant to explain everything, which it doesn't. When I don't say anything in response, he adds beneath his breath while keeping his eyes forward on the road, "I wasn't really there for a meeting with shareholders. That explosion that had gone off..." He pauses, making a wincing face as he glances in the rearview mirror again.

"Y-yeah? W-what about it?"

"Well, I caused them. The explosions." He winces again as he looks at me apprehensively. "I _was_ there for business- that part of it was true- only I don't really work as CEO to a million dollar company." He says the words slowly, anxiously, as if worried how I'm going to react once it all begins to settle in. "I was deployed in France for a covert operation when I first met you." Nerves turn his voice low and unsteady. "That operation was to assassinate a terrorist organisation that was residing in an apartment near the marketplace. Explosives were the best and cleanest way to do it."

My head whirls rapidly as I lean it back against the seat, his confession sinking into my brain in a bewildered rush. He'd lied to me when we had first met that fateful day, while both travelling in France, four years ago.

He had told me he'd been there for something entirely different from the true reason he was there in the first place. Holy shit. He was deployed in France under a covert operation to kill a group of people? Terrorists? This man... someone I had been so impressed with and taken with at the very start the instance we had met... he was someone else. Someone I did not even know. I'd married a stranger. And what makes it worse is that-

"I was your cover," I breathe out in numb shock.

"What?" He prompts quietly, peering at me briefly.

"That day, when we'd met in the inn with the French police wanting to speak to us, wondering whether we were alone as the explosions went off." Suddenly, it all makes sense to me. And when it does finally begin to make sense- it hurts. It's painful. "We had pretended that we were together, that we knew each other." How stupid could I have unknowingly been? "We made it seem like we were travelling together rather than alone. I had been unknowingly covering for you?" I cannot hide the anger and outrage in my tone. "You used me as a cover? A sort of... alibi to cover your ass so the officers wouldn't suspect you?"

Christian stiffens in the seat at the tone of my voice as he takes one hand off the steering wheel to run his fingers through his hair. "No, it wasn't like that," he protests.

"Yes, _it was_ , Christian!" I retort. "It _was exactly_ like that! Were you using our marriage as a cover for normalcy too?"

"What? Our marriage as a cover?" he repeats, meeting my gaze, his eyes wide in alarm. "Is that truly what you fucking think? You think I've _used four long years_ of life with you _as a cover_?"

"Well, _clearly_ you _have_ , haven't you?"

As I stare at him while my breathing goes louder, I feel like hitting him. I actually feel angry enough to want to do some horrible brutal things to this man, something I never expected to feel towards anyone, because I like to feel that I am the least confrontational, violent person in the world. But how could I have been so silly and naive? He had obviously used me this whole entire time as a cover for him, some sort of facade of normality in marrying me.

"God, how naive I was back then. The first American man I find in France that sends me the slightest bit of attention, I'm immediately falling all over him," I grumble in frustration, sliding a hand through the strands of my long hair roughly. "You were using me back then!" Despite our situation I still want to be dropped off at Mia's. Or anywhere else far away from this man for that matter. "I think you should drop me off at Mia's or something," I add hopefully.

He laughs, an unexpected thing given our circumstances. He actually dares to laugh but it's a sarcastic one; A laugh I've never heard from him before. God, was he faking the sound of his true laugh as well? "Sure, I'll do that. I'll drop you straight off to Mia's." He's making fun of me, the bastard.

"Well, _I_ think you should. Or anywhere in general _because honestly_ I have no desire to be around you right now," I say spitefully.

"You can't get dropped off to Mia's, baby," he points out in a low, emphatic voice, like he's explaining something to a child. "Think about it. If I drop you off to my sisters the first thing they'll do is not only potentially hurt my little sister- which frankly, I'd rather not risk- but they'd look for you."

"I don't want anyone hurting Mia." The thought makes me shiver at putting Mia in danger. Or any of his family or mine in danger even. "But why me then? Why look for me?"

"Because you're my wife. Whoever these people are that are after us, I'm assuming it's... personal. After tonight's events, I think it's safe to assume they wouldn't hesitate to murder what I care about the most in retaliation, which... obviously is you." Now I wish I hadn't brought up being dropped off at Mia's. He's being infuriatingly smug. "Oh and by the way, resuming our conversation where you so rudely accused me of using you as just a cover, it wasn't like that at all, I swear to you." Like all things so far tonight, I am reluctant to believe him.

Tonight has been so crazy and action-packed, not to mention he's just revealed startling new information about himself that I never even knew or suspected before. He's been lying to me for so long. About his profession and about why he truly was in France when we had met in the first place. Why should I believe him at all now?

"Ana, until I met you... that night we had dinner after meeting in the inn, I never knew I wanted to be somebody's husband. I never thought I'd once have a chance at having a normal, stable future with anyone."

Lies. It has to be all lies.

"Admittedly, at first, I _did_ use you the instance you walked into the inn and the officers were around you. I saw my ticket out. Yet, talking later that night in France during dinner, getting to know you and how not only interesting but beautiful you were, you gave me hope as well as a world of possibilities that I never even dreamed realistic for me."

"What? And that's supposed to make me _feel bette_ r?" I mutter, incredulous.

He signals which prepares me for the next sudden turn. I brace myself against the seat as he jerks the wheel a tight left this time, going further and further into an area I haven't been in before. I have no idea where we're going or what our next step will be, but it's obvious Christian _is_ concerned about us being followed.

He keeps checking the mirror for any sign of headlights or a car trailing behind us. I glance in the mirror on my side of the door myself. As far as I can tell, there is hardly any traffic around at this hour. The road is clear and the night seems quiet and undisturbed.

"So Mia's truly your sister then?" I ask suspiciously, noticing that he'd still called her his sister. "Your family that I've met is truly your family?"

"What?" he murmurs in disbelief. "You think I'm faking who my family is now?"

Considering how he lied so easily about his profession, it doesn't seem too out-there or impossible to believe. "You could have easily hired some actors to pretend to be your family or something?"

He chuckles again at my words, which is becoming annoying.

"I'm so glad that I seem to be amusing you so much," I retort wryly. "So what else is there?" I spit out despite a part of me not wanting to know. "What else is there that you've lied about, other than your whole entire profession to me?"

The look on his profile side-on tells me all that I need to know. There's more and I'm not going to like it.

He combs his fingers through his hair as a resigned sigh escapes him. "Remember that time on our honeymoon when a guy came up to us and called me 'Trev?"

I think hard, faintly remembering it. We had gotten out of our honeymoon suite in Bali after having spent 3 full days in there drinking wine and making love among other things. A man had approached us, greeting Christian, calling him Trev for some reason. I had automatically assumed that he had mistaken Christian for someone else as their exchange had seemed so awkward.

"I think so?" I reply warily. "In Bali? What about it?"

"Well, he wasn't mistaken. He hadn't gotten me confused with someone else like you had initially thought."

I shake my head, confused. I still don't understand where he is going with this. "So?"

"So, baby, he..." He pauses to look over at me, his expression wary and cautious. It's as if he is trying to tread carefully out of fear of upsetting me even more, which is probably smart thinking. "He wasn't wrong." He pauses again and I think I hear him swallow loudly. "My true birth name is Trevelyan. It's why he called me Trev the way he did."

 _Trev? Trevelyan? Of all the things to lie about, his name has to even be one of them! Trevelyan! Not even Christian, but Trevelyan!_

"Christian's my middle name, but my first... it's Trevelyan."

"T-Trevelyan?" I'm surprised I can even manage to speak. I sound like I'm choking, like there's something stuck wedged deep in my esophagus. "So your name _isn't even truly_ Christian? Your first name is actually Trevelyan?"

"Trevelyan was my great grandfather's name," he explains almost ruefully. "But Christian, I've always liked the name Christian more. It's always seemed more... modern to me."

"So I haven't even been calling you by your real fucking name in all the years we've been together," I mutter petulantly under my breath, horrified at the revelation. Trevelyan! The man I married, the man I thought I knew and loved so much, he isn't even truly Christian at all!

"Baby, don't-" I see one of his hands reaching out to touch me, maybe even comfort me.

I cannot handle it. He's practically a stranger, an impostor of the man I thought I knew and loved.

"Don't touch me!" I snap loudly, wriggling away before his hand can so much as come into contact with my shoulder or my arm or my leg. "I hate you," I bite out before I can stop myself, my voice rising. "I _actually hate you_ right now! You've lied to me about so many things! How can I even trust you, let alone allow you to touch me?" Suddenly I'm shuddering and shaking, I'm so mad.

I can tell I've offended him. He throws his hand back at my outburst, instead placing it back over the steering wheel, his fingers gripping around it tight. I feel so tired by everything tonight. So tired and overwhelmed by everything he's just revealed to me.

So many emotions are within me all at once- fear about whoever he says may be after us, shock after seeing that man knocked out cold on the floor with a rifle near him, Christian appearing with his bloody nose and torn shirt with the painful-looking gash. The drive-by shooting at the house, Christian not even being who I thought he was.

Driving at midnight right now to get away from whoever is after us while not knowing where it is we're heading off to. Everything is so overwhelming right now. An uncontrollable strangled sob escapes from my throat as I try to stifle it down, turning away from him in my seat.

Everything I thought I knew...

Everything I thought I had. A committed loving husband who also I thought was my best friend, someone I knew so well and could trust with my very own life.

It's all gone within the matter of a night. When were all the nasty surprises going to end?

It's sadly ironic that, despite feeling like suddenly I do not know this man that I've married, he's still so predictable in so many ways.

As I wipe my wet nose on the back of my hand while trying to hold myself together, I see the corner of his head turn back into my direction as he searches my face. And just as he usually does whenever he sees I'm upset or on the verge of crying, he actually still does it despite not even being the man I thought he was.

He actually does what he always does, as if that part of it wasn't an act.

"No, no," I hear him mutter in a soft, concerned voice. "Baby, don't. Please don't cry." He's always hated me crying.

In all the countless number of times I've cried during us being together, he'd always comfort me, pick me up, strengthen me. Despite all his nasty revelations, he still tisks his tongue sadly and reaches over towards my seat.

"I know this is complicated right now," he murmurs in a soothing voice. "But we'll get through it, baby. You don't need to cry."

He rubs his hand gently on my shoulder as he usually always does. How come he still rushes to comfort me despite even revealing to me that he isn't the man that I thought he was? Unless... this part of it wasn't an act? Can he truly care?

"We'll reach somewhere safe to sleep soon," he continues, his hand still rubbing soft circles over me. "I can't see anybody tailing us right now so we might be safe for the time being."

"Where are we driving to?" I force myself to ask while trying to appear normal. Getting emotional, it's embarrassing but I can't help it. As I dash my tears hurriedly away he places his hand back onto the steering wheel satisfied that I'm better. "Where will we go?"

I turn to look at him through my blurry eyes, watching him. He scratches his chin while keeping his eyes glued to the road ahead of us. "I'm not sure yet, baby, but... I was thinking of renting out a hotel room for the night."

"Then what? What's our next plan?"

"I honestly haven't thought that far ahead yet, baby," he admits, running a hand through his hair, his voice frustrated. "But I'm sure we'll think of something."

As if remembering something, he leans back against his seat, sliding a hand off the steering wheel. I watch in confusion as he reaches around the back of my seat with his arm, grabbing something.

"What are you do-" The words get stuck and die on my tongue as he pulls his arm back, something shiny and silver and sleek in his hand.

I realize what that something is when Christian checks the safety lock, then sets it carefully on the top of the dashboard. A pistol. He's had a pistol hidden in the back of the passenger's seat this entire freaking time?

"H-how long have you had a gun in your Jeep for?" I blurt out, shocked.

He glances at me with a careless shrug. "I put it in there probably three weeks after we brought it." That's very nearly two years. Two years of having a gun hidden in his car without me even knowing!

"B-b-but you said the whole entire reason that you wanted a big car like a Jeep in the first place was because then, in the future, we could take our children camping and on long drives as a bit of family fun?"

"What?" He blinks at me in confusion after signalling a right turn, slowing down slightly. "And having a gun in the car means that I never meant that?"

"It's a gun, Christian!" I point out, enraged by his carelessness. "What if we _did_ end up doing what you said? What if we had toddlers in the car and one of them happened to get a hold of the gun?"

"Then there wouldn't be a loaded gun back there hidden in the seat like there just was, would there?" he argues back, his voice tinged with irritation. "I'm not a fool, Ana. Do you really think I'd keep the gun in the back of the seat where our small children could easily reach it? I don't have that much disregard for safety!"

"That's another thing you've lied to me about!" I retort over him, my voice a loud yell. "I never even knew you owned a gun in the first place!"

He has never seemed to me the type of man to use a gun; I always assumed he was strongly against violence of any nature. Apparently I truly don't know him at all. Who is this man? Obviously he isn't the one I fell in love with.

 **Next chapter will be revealed how Christian got the stains on his shirt (and Ana will address her affair suspicions again). Love to know what you're thinking so far? Any advice is welcome.**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

The rest of the drive is spent in simmering silence while my eyes keep darting to that ominous-looking gun on the dashboard. Every swift right or left turn Christian makes in the Jeep, the gun will roll on the dashboard. The forth time it does, knocking near my side of the car, I have to stop myself from reaching out to grab it out of annoyance.

I just cannot get over what he's told me. Of all the things to learn about my husband!

I lean my head back against the seat with a sigh, trying to shut my eyes, to keep calm. This entire situation is unbelievable. I find myself wanting to sleep. Having a good eight hour's worth of sleep is definitely majorly appealing to me right now. The day has been too long, too overwhelming.

Finally we seem to reach our destination for the night. That damn gun slides over to my side again to rest with a short knocking sound against the glass windshield as Christian pulls into an impressive leafy driveway of a hotel. I've never been to this hotel before but the glowing sign out front tells me it's the Fairmont Olympic Hotel. I have no idea how far we are from our house or for how long we've even been driving. All I know is that I'm bone-tired and exhausted both mentally and physically.

"Why here?" I manage to ask quietly, turning my head to look at him. "Have you been here before?"

"No, I haven't." He blinks at me slowly while running a hand through his hair. "It was basically a... random choice."

"Do you think it's safe here?"

"I'm about ninety-nine point nine percent positive we'll be safe here overnight, Ana. I was thinking we could stay here for the night. That way, you can get some sleep," Christian murmurs as I watch a well dressed man stand near the front entrance, waiting for us.

The man is obviously a valet waiting to park the Jeep. Stepping on the gas unnecessarily hard- at least in my eyes anyway- the Jeep lurches suddenly forward and I jerk forward in my seat. I can only manage to give the man that's supposed to be my husband a reproachful stare as he speeds up and around a magnificent stone fountain piece, racing around it like the Jeep's a race-car. He slams on the breaks just in time to where the valet is, and I'm plunged back into my seat again, my heart hammering inside my chest.

"Well, let's go, baby," Christian says, shutting off the engine. He reaches behind me to grab our suitcase, then he climbs out of the car while I scramble to do the same.

My legs feel weak as I manage to stand upright while I watch Christian and the valet talking to each other. The last thing I find I want to do is be staying in a hotel room with the man I thought I knew and loved who, actually in turn, is a complete stranger. I'm too mad to stay in the same room as him, let alone sleep in the same bed next to each other.

He hands the valet the keys and then he beckons for me to follow him inside. I try to keep up behind him, a yawn tearing through my mouth which I try to muffle down with my hand. I feel oddly enough like I'm half asleep as Christian holds the door open for me while the valet gets inside his Jeep, planning to take it elsewhere to park it. _Shit, the Jeep! The gun on the dashboard!_

I'm just about to panic about the valet seeing it when I notice Christian subtly tucking something beneath the waistband of his trousers at the back of him while approaching the reception desk to the hotel. I catch the quick glimpse of shiny metal as he pulls down the shirttail on his white business shirt, covering it up securely, and my nerves are immediately doused. _Oh, thank God, he thought of bringing the gun inside with him! At least the valet won't freak out and have a panic attack now at the sight of it in the Jeep!_

"Hi, there. Uh, can I help you both?" The receptionist asks in a sweet voice, glancing between us with a smile. "Do you happen to have a room booked?"

I glance between us myself and realize how ridiculous we must look to her. We probably look like two people who have just come out alive from a battlefield, which isn't too far from it; My husband, Christian, with dry blood still beneath his nose from probably getting punched by that man who was knocked out outside our bedroom door. Not to mention that tear in the sleeve of his shirt, on his left arm which... now that we're in better light in the hotel, I realize looks more serious than I first thought. There's deep red blood staining around the open cloth of his sleeve, the wound looking deep and inflamed.

As for myself, my clothes look fine. A little wrinkled, but fine. I bet my eyelids are swollen and puffy from crying in the car earlier though.

"Taylor," Christian answers, turning to look at me, something unidentifiable there in his eyes. I realize what he's doing when he reaches over, slipping a hand around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I feel my stomach muscles tighten as I clench my teeth shut tightly. It takes me all I have not to elbow him in the ribs. "We'll need a room for Mr and Mrs Taylor please if you so happen to have one available."

Mr and Mrs Taylor?

"Well, you're incredibly lucky because we do happen to have the Cascade Suite available and free to use, however it's a little more expensive then the usual rooms we have here."

"That's perfect. We'll take it." I sag in relief once he removes his arm from around me to take out his wallet.

The receptionist explains the price per night and, surprising me, Christian informs her that we just got married three nights ago. I've have never seen him at work before; He lies effortlessly to the woman, making up some silly story about how our wedding night went while even giving me convincing looks of a man that appears in love. The receptionist takes every word in, captivated by our story. Then when she asks for our identification, Christian's quickly onto it, opening his wallet again.

"We're Mr and Mrs Taylor," he repeats firmly, flashing what looks like five hundred dollars at the woman.

Just like that, she caves in at the promise of free cash. She takes it from him, muttering back his words on us just being 'Mr and Mrs Taylor'. Then Christian winks and gives her an enigmatic smile as she hands us the key to the Cascade Suite.

I'm sure I'm open-mouthed and looking flabbergasted when Christian leads both of us to the elevators while still carrying our suitcase. _Who is this man who easily convinced and bribed a receptionist to go against regulation in asking for identification? And where the hell has the man I thought was my husband gone?_

"What?" he asks me in confusion as we stand by the elevator, waiting for it to open. Just like that, he's dropped the act, no more Mr Con Artist. It was honestly amazing how convincing he was.

"Is that something you do often?" I ask, lowering my voice. "You make up things so that you can easily get your own way?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes it's easier and neccessary to pretend to be someone else, even if it's for a few seconds..."

"Right. Just like in our whole entire marriage with how you pretended to be my husband," I mutter frostily beneath my breath before I can help myself. I'm still mad. Well, really, I am more than mad right now. I am a whole lot of things all at once.

I see him stiffen out of the corner of my eye but when I shoot a look at him, he regards me neutrally. I can see something gleaming there in his grey eyes though. I know he's mad. I guess that makes two of us then.

"Firstly, I've never pretended in all the years we've been together. Not even once." He drops his voice to a low whisper in case we get overheard by someone, I'm assuming. "And _secondly_ , I've already told you that. How many times do I have to make myself clear?"

"Oh. You say you've never pretended in all the years we've been together? Never?"

"Well, OK, so there's a few things," he admits, backtracking slowly. "Like my job for instance. And maybe, that thing with my name. But that's really all."

"That's _all_?" I repeat incredulously. "You think _that's all_? As if it's no big deal? I don't know. Lying about your name and what you do for a living, I'd actually say they are two _pretty big damn things_ to lie about to your wife!"

The elevator doors finally ping open before Christian has a chance to get another word in, prolonging our argument. A man exits, glancing at Christian in surprise as he rushes out, his eyes wide and alarmed. I notice Christian shake his head as we both enter, his free hand that isn't gripping onto the suitcase handle lashing out to stab the button to our floor with his index finger.

"What was his problem?" he murmurs beneath his breath, hinting to the man that had just vacated the elevator, still clearly irritated from our fight.

The doors slide closed again, and then a computerized voice tells us how high we're going and what level on each of the floors.

"You've got dried blood on your nose," I point out while shuffling away from him, keeping some space even if we _are_ in a fairly small elevator together. "I'm assuming that's probably the reason for the funny look before he walked out."

"Well, thank you." Gritting his teeth, he lifts up his hand, dabbing his nose self-consciously with the fabric of his sleeve. "Thank you for telling me," he murmurs wryly. "And thank you for sounding so concerned just then by the fact that your husband had a bleeding nose," he adds under his breath, a low grumble.

"Well, you're walking and breathing, aren't you?" I snap. "So why should I be concerned?"

He mutters something beneath his breath that I don't catch and my stomach sinks at the sad realization.

Christian and I usually never argue like this. Even in all the 4 years of having been together, we'd rarely argued. Well, we'd have our minor disagreements of course, which probably all couples have. And honestly, the make-up sex afterwards had always been divine. But we'd never argue like this; Usually I have never been this hateful towards him and mean.

But then again, I figure I have all the right in the world to be bitter and hostile. He lied to me and was dishonest about who he truly was. How can I not feel angry and argumentative towards him?

I sigh out a long unsteady breath loudly. Then I try to make my voice less hostile. "Who's Mr and Mrs Taylor?" I ask.

" _We_ are. _We're_ Mr and Mrs Taylor." Finally, we land on the eleventh floor, our floor to the Suite, and he gestures for me to walk out first, following closely by my side, still carrying the suitcase with him.

"I know that but... why? Why not just sign in at reception as Mr and Mrs Grey?"

"Because it's not a risk that I wanted to take," he explains as we reach the door in the hallway to our room. He sets down the suitcase while inserting the key into the door, letting us in. "Think about it, baby. If we had signed into the hotel down there as Mr and Mrs Grey, wouldn't you think it would be easier for these guys that are after us to trace us down then?"

The instance he finishes, I understand at once. "Oh, of course. I-I didn't think of it that way before." I head inside the room first while curling my arms around my waist, hugging myself tight.

I actually find myself relieved that Christian talked the receptionist into letting us have the Cascade Suite, even if we _aren't_ truly a Mr and Mrs Taylor. I wander around the room, checking everything out. There ends up being two separate bedrooms, and it comes complete with even a formal dining room table. A log fire is lit and crackling with frames in the huge main room.

When I glance inside both the bathrooms that are conjoined in the bedrooms, I see there's even larger bathtubs that the one we had at home which looks extremely inviting. I wouldn't mind having a bath but right now, I find myself too exhausted to. Even forcing myself to walk around is tiresome.

Dragging my feet slowly back out to the main room, I stand by the fire, luxuriating in the warmth as I watch Christian plop the suitcase of our belongings down onto the large spacious couch that we even have.

He slides his gun out from its hiding place at the back of his trousers waistband, and my mood sort of darkens. I just cannot believe he even has a gun. I stare at him quietly while getting warm and sleepy, observing the way he grips it by the handle with one hand, while the other hand he uses to do something with it.

I don't know much about guns but I'm positive he's making sure the safety lock is still on. The way he expertly operates it, the way he pulls open what I'm assuming is the chamber with the most peacefully absorbed expression on his face, it makes me shiver.

Again, I feel angry with myself. How could I have not known all this time? How come I never suspected anything until basically this morning, what with the stains on his shirt? I'd suspected he's being having an affair and yet... what I've learned tonight, it's so much worse than any affair he could potentially have been having on me.

When another yawn rises to the surface of my mouth, I force myself to move, treading heavily over to the suitcase. I unzip it, wrenching it open.

All our clothes are messy and just shoved in there, I guess because the both of us were too desperate to leave to care about making sure we folded them neatly- me with wanting to leave to Mia's and Christian with wanting to leave the dangerous men wanting to attack us.

I shove some of his shirts to the side, managing to find my pajamas right down at the bottom of the case. I pull them out, ignoring a pair of his jeans that spills out onto the couch afterwards. My main concern is just sleeping right now. Maybe if I get a good night's sleep then tomorrow when I wake up this nightmare won't seem as horrifying?

Without saying a single word to Christian or checking to see if he's still playing with his gun, I march through one room to the other, then head into the bathroom, closing it shut securely.

Even while pulling on my comfy satin pajama shorts and camisole, I still can't seem to be comfortable. It's impossible to relax or to feel OK after what happened today. I just can't seem to stop feeling tense and on-edge while also feel bone-tired as well.

Heading back out of the bathroom in my pajamas, it feels cold so I rush back towards the fireplace in the main room again, getting myself warm. I notice Christian isn't still doing what he did earlier; I find him in the kitchen area, peering in the bar fridge.

"We've got complimentary wine," he points out, obviously having heard me return into the room. "I don't know about you, Mrs Taylor, but after the hell of a night we've had I believe a drink is in order. Don't you?"

Maybe he's right? Maybe a drink is truly what I need to take that edge off? "Sounds good to me," I mutter.

He opens the bottle and fixes us both a drink. Then he carries the two wine glasses over to where I stand, the red wine sloshing with every brisk stride he makes. I wonder if he's still angry over my remark earlier.

We end up standing by the fire silently while sipping at our wine. The wine tastes too bitter and strong but it also makes me feel a lot more relaxed and less alert. After a while, Christian turns sideways to stare at me, his grey eyes searching my face as they reflect and shine with the flames from in the fireplace. That same anger wells up in my stomach as I stare back holding his gaze, my insides feeling warm. _He lied this whole entire time! I don't know this man at all and yet, we're supposedly married!_

"Are you feeling all right, baby?" he has the nerve to ask softly, his eyes softening in concern.

I almost choke on the mouthful of wine I'm drinking. "Am I all right?" I repeat, my eyes widening. "You have the nerve to ask me if I'm all right? How can I be okay right now, Christian?" All my rage, everything, it bubbles up to the surface. "Barely without an hour, my whole entire marriage has been revealed to be a lie where the man I thought I married isn't even who he said he was in the first place!" I shout too loudly, my hand shaking the wine glass around. "So no, I think it's safe to say that I'm not all right, OK?"

Christian blinks once at my tone- shocked, I think. I sort of can't blame him. During our marriage, I've hardly yelled around him and certainly not directly at him. "For fuck sake, Ana! How _many times_ can I say this? How many times do I _have to_ say this?" He isn't yelling himself, it's more like a frustrated hiss while he tries to keep himself under control. "Yes, there are certain things that I haven't been completely honest about. My job, especially. But that's where it ended."

"Where it ended? No, it isn't where it ended!" He clenches his eyes shut, a deep sigh heaving out of his nostrils. Then he reopens his eyes slowly to blink down at me, irritation blaring in them. "What about Trev too, huh? Trevelyan? You lied about even your real first name!"

"I didn't lie about my first name, Ana,"

"Yes, you did!" I argue back. "When we first met that time in France, you introduced yourself as Christian! You gave me the impression that your name was Christian when it isn't! That's lying, isn't it?"

"I've already told you this. While my true birth name may be Trevelyan, it's Christian that I prefer to go by."

"So? It still means you've kept it from me, doesn't it?" I force my voice to barely above a whisper, trying to keep my own cool. "Exactly in the way that you purposefully thought not to tell me about your true job! You knowingly lied and let me think you were this hot-shot CEO!"

"It was safer for you to think that," he growls out in exasperation, running a hand through his hair. _Safer for me to think that? What- that he's a CEO of a million dollar company instead of some guy who goes around assassinating people like he just admitted to earlier on tonight in the car ride over here?_ I snort into my wine glass incredulously. "Believe me, Ana, it was." His tone empathetic, desperate for me to understand. "If you knew- things could have been dangerous."

"Dangerous? You mean like how things are now?" I arch my brows at him. "Dangerous?"

He shakes his head and swallows at my words. "Look, I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you when we first met, baby, but..." He shakes his head again, inhaling deeply, "I had obligations, things I were required to do. Things I can't quite explain."

I open my mouth to fight back but he holds up a hand between us imploringly, his eyes pleading with me to let him finish.

"But... what I _can_ explain is what I'll tell you again. I know you're under the impression that these 4 years together, they were...a lie." I mash my lips together trying my hardest not to interrupt, letting him say his piece. "What you think- it couldn't be the furthest thing away from the truth, Ana. I need you to believe this."

"Believe what?" I slip up, hissing through my teeth.

"This. _Us_ ," he says, his voice raw, eyes desperate. "While everything else- my true profession especially- may have been a slight variation of the truth, that's where it ends." I don't want to believe him- in fact, my first instinct is to shrug it off and be mad at him again. Only the expression in his eyes, the tender yet urgent way he looks at me as well as the sincerity in his words, it derails me and disarms me all at once. "The most realist..." He pauses, his forehead marring with a crease as he seems to consider his choice of words, "truest thing in my entire life has always been us. Us and the way I've felt about you ever since first meeting you."

I press my lips over my wine glass, gulping down a few large mouthfuls while trying to accept what he is saying to me. But it's too hard because there is a part of me that still wants to refuse to believe it.

"And despite how you're feeling right now and how angry you are at me, baby, I'm not the enemy here," he continues and he reaches up to place his glass of wine on the mantelpiece above the fire. He pries my glass of wine out between my fingers too before I can even say anything about it to place it on the mantelpiece near his drink as well. "We need to start working together as... husband and wife. Partners."

He takes both my hands, gripping them strongly in the pair of his. I want to pull away, to demand him to stop touching me yet at the same time I find I enjoy him touching me as well. It's confusing.

"As you saw tonight with your very own pair of eyes yourself, we already have people after us, people that are..." He pauses again while running his thumbs over my little fingers, a wince coming across his face, "intent on killing the both of us. So let's try not to give them want they want the most."

"And what's that?" I murmur, my voice hoarse.

For the first time all night, the corner of his lips twitch genuinely with a smile, his eyes lighting up. "Me dead on the floor due to my angry wife," he explains wryly.

Although this doesn't feel very much like a laughing situation and I still feel mad and deadly tired, I can't help the small exhausted laugh that escapes me. "Sadly even although I'm lethally mad at you right now, I don't think I'd actually ever truly be mad enough to be capable of committing murder. Even not with my dishonest husband as the victim."

"Then that's reassuring to know, isn't it?"

I never thought it would be capable for me to smile given our circumstances but I manage it, all thanks to him. He's always known all the magic ways to make me feel better- even if he isn't who I thought he was in the first place. Some things never change apparently.

"Well, I'm going to go use the bathroom and get myself cleaned up," he says, reluctantly releasing my hands to grab his wine glass off the mantelpiece. He swallows the entire glass of wine down in three impressively quick gulps. "Something tells me the strength of the wine isn't going to be enough to dull what's about to happen."

The wine isn't going to be enough to dull what's about to happen? What is about to happen? "What do you mean?" I ask in confusion as he moves towards the suitcase, searching for something.

He turns to look at me while holding a small pack in his hand. "I have to try get this shirt off my arm and bandage it up." He grimaces as he glances down at the bloody ripped fabric of his shirt on his left arm. "I'm definitely not looking forward to it."

"You want my help?" I offer before I even know what I'm saying.

Christian stares at me for a moment in surprise, his eyebrows raised. "Would you?" he asks uncertainly.

If anyone had told me that we would be here in this situation right now where I would have to end up helping him get his shirt off his injured arm, I wouldn't have believed them. But I find its true; I do actually want to help him despite how mad I may still be at him, how mad and mistrusting. I'll always care about Christian. Even now this won't change that. "I can't say I'll be much help, but sure."

"Let's go then." I follow him into one of the bathrooms while he opens the little pack he is holding in his hands. I realize it's something of a First Aid Kit with small bandages and a tiny pair of scissors. "We'll probably need to cut the fabric off then tear the rest of it off the wound," he explains to me, his voice not at all excited about that.

He grabs a white stool that's been provided in the bathroom and he drags it closer to the sink, then sits. I try not to look as he slowly starts unbuttoning his shirt. I've always loved the sight of Christian without a shirt on; Without one on, he looks so athletic and toned in an extremely delicious way that often got me excited just by the mere look of him. Obviously becoming excited over his shirtless form is the very last thing I want right now.

Carefully, he gets the sleeve off his uninjured arm, leaving the shirt to drape over his left shoulder. It's obvious the fabric is stuck and has dried along with the blood from his wound earlier. Pulling it off, it's going to be painful.

"Can you get the scissors and try to cut most of it off, baby?" he asks, exhaling loudly.

I grab the tiny scissors and attempt to pull back the sleeve from his shoulder. It comes off easily most of the way, but it's at his forearm where the material is stuck most of all.

"I'm going to ruin one of your work shirts?" I point out while trying to decide the best way to start cutting.

He shrugs using his free right arm. "It's just a shirt," he murmurs carelessly. "Besides, I have plenty more of them anyway. Just try not to accidentally cut into my skin, OK?"

I meet his gaze while trying not to laugh. Try not to accidentally cut into his skin? Hmm... very tempting.

"Don't give me any ideas," I whisper half-seriously.

His grey eyes are filled with apprehension as he watches me while I start to do my work. I slice and cut my way through most of the fabric so there's basically just a cuffed sleeve left from his forearm downwards to his wrist. The remaining fabric of his shirt drops to the floor at our feet carelessly.

"OK, so I'm going to start trying to cut around your gash, OK?" I warn him while beginning to feel nervous myself. On closer inspection, the gash in his arm doesn't look too bad. It isn't infected, it will just be difficult to get the rest of the shirt off, seeing as he's bleed all over it and its caused it to stick to him like adhesive.

"Fine."

Very carefully, I start cutting up his wrist, managing to get the cuff of his sleeve separated. My eyes dart up to his face as I tentatively start cutting small loose bits around the fabric and his wound. Christian's sitting very still, not even daring to move, his eyes clenched closed, lips parted as he breathes.

It's so strange to think that I'm actually doing something like this. It's almost a surreal dream.

"OK, so I've managed to cut off as much as I can but there's some stuck to your arm around the wound," I explain to him while placing the scissors on the sink.

He opens his eyes slowly at my warning, glancing down to check on the work I've done himself. "Very good job, baby," he murmurs with what sounds like pride in his tone. "You did great with getting rid of most of it." He licks his lips nervously as he peers down at the rectangular patch of fabric glued around his wound, the fabric stained with dry blood. "Now for the part I'm dreading the most."

I think I'm dreading this part too but I don't admit it. He leans down slightly on the stool and I don't realize what he's doing until I feel him. He runs both hands slowly up the back of my calves, up towards the back of my thighs. Now I wish I hadn't just worn my plain old camisole and satin shorts to bed. I'm mad at him. Maybe I should have worn something that offers more coverage instead of something that leaves my skin so exposed?

"Don't," I warn seriously as I get a good grip on an edge of the blood-stained patch of fabric.

"Don't what, baby?" He tilts his head back to peer up at me, his eyes narrowed in confusion. He moves his hands slowly back down my legs again, warming me with his masculine hands and fingers. "What am I doing?"

"You know fair well what you're doing. I'm trying to concentrate with helping to get this thing off your arm so keep your hands off."

"I can't." A hum of amusement erupts from in the deepest part of his throat as he drags his right hand up over my calf again, while his other arm remains still. "You know, it's... been a while." He does that thing with his voice; A thing he knows I've always liked. Christian has this amazing way of making his voice sound so low and so sensual.

"Been a while?" I repeat, playing dumb. I know fair well what he is hinting to. "Been a while since what?"

"Since we've made love. Four days in fact."

"What makes you think I want to have sex with you?" I murmur under my breath. Sex is the very last thing I feel up to right now.

"Well, as I said. It's been four days, baby." I try to ignore the way he's speaking and how good he can make his voice sound. That's probably the Con Artist in him, I try to remind myself. "That's practically a world record for us. Four very long days."

Hoping to send my message over to him loud and clear, I start tugging gently without warning him beforehand. A sharp hiss leaves his gritted teeth at the pain as I start peeling the patch of fabric back slowly. Some of the light hair on his forearm comes away along with it, sticking to the fabric with all the dried blood.

"Shit, that hurts," he grunts in pain, breathing heavily. "Are you sure you aren't ripping off a huge layer of skin along with it? Because that's what it feels like..."

"No, it's just that the hair on your arms is coming off along with it. Now you're experiencing firsthand what it feels like whenever I go to get my eyebrows waxed."

With one last tug, the fabric finally peels off. Crap! That's when I notice he's started bleeding again.

"Here, press this on it," I say urgently as I grab a wad of toilet paper, handing it to him. He does as I say, pressing it tightly over the wound to stop the bleeding while I attempt to unwrap the bandage. "How did your arm even get this way in the first place? It looks like you've been sliced by a knife but I only saw that one man knocked out near the bedroom door with the gun?"

"That's because there were two more downstairs. One had a knife while the other had another gun."

 _Holy shit. There were two more men in the house downstairs?_

"How come I didn't notice them?" I murmur in confusion. You'd think I would have noticed the two other men inside the house.

"They were both knocked out in the kitchen. That's probably why."

That explains why the house was in such a mess then. "How did they get knocked out?"

Christian turns his head up to look at me while grimacing in pain. He arches his eyebrows at me, as if to make a point. It's then I realize what he's trying to say.

 _Oh, wow. So he managed to knock out not only the man upstairs near our bedroom, but the two downstairs with the knife and gun?_

"You managed to take down two men all by yourself?" I ask, failing to hide my amazement.

While his sister Mia had told me all about Christian's rebellious side when he was younger and how he'd get into dangerous bar brawls, I never knew he could fight that well. Then again, looking at him, at how muscular his arms are and at how toned he is, maybe it isn't so hard to believe after all? I just never once knew the man I'd married could be such a kick-ass fighter. It's quite sexy, the knowledge that he's so strong and capable of handling himself in a fight. Not that I'd be telling him that right now.

"I did," he confesses, a slight tone of haughtiness in his voice. "You sound surprised?"

"Well, that's because I _am_ surprised. I never pegged you for a good, capable fighter." Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I focus on what needs to be done. Which is bandaging up his wound. "OK, I think that's enough with staunching the blood now." He removes it from his wound and holds out his arm, letting me get to work without complaint.

I wrap the bandage around his arm, trying to make it tight enough yet not too tight to limit his arm movement and also cause lack of blood circulation.

"Better now?" I ask while trying to ignore the fact that he's started using his hand again.

He uses his other uninjured arm and hand, rubbing a pattern up and down my bare leg again. I really wish he'd stop because it makes it difficult. I'm supposed to be angry with him, not aroused by what he's doing.

"Yeah, it feels much better, baby. Thank you."

"Your welcome. And despite everything, I really _am_ , you know," I confess quietly.

"You are? You are what?"

"Concerned about the fact that you're bleeding, like with what you said in the elevator. I _am_ deep down despite everything. I've known you for 4 years, something pretty long and serious for me. So how can I not be?"

"Well, that's reassuring to know. You were very convincing back there." His voice goes soft and warm. Distracted even, as he draws a pattern with his thumb over and up the side of my thigh.

I can only feel relieved to move away from him once I finish the last of the bandage, sticking it together with medical tape. The instance I step away, putting distance between us while chucking the toilet paper he used to stop the flow of blood into the toilet, I still feel the pleasant aftereffects of his thumb tracing patterns over my thigh.

"OK, now that my job is done here, I'm going straight to bed," I murmur, forcing myself not to look at him as I head towards the bathroom door.

"OK, I'll see you in a couple of minutes," he murmurs in response.

I stop still in the entryway at his comment. I realize he has misinterpreted my meaning in saying that. _What? Does he think I'm inviting him to sleep in the same bed as me? Even after all the craziness we've been through tonight?_

I turn to look at him, watching the way he stares down at his bandaged arm. He flexes and opens his hands from a fist, checking to make sure the circulation is fine, I'm assuming.

"Um, no, there's _two separate_ bedrooms in this suite," I point out. At the sound of my voice, Christian lifts his head, looking into my direction.

"What?" he mutters, confused.

"There's two separate rooms. I think we should both utilize each of them. Me, in one room. And you, in the other. That seems reasonable, don't you think?"

"Bullshit," he exclaims, smiling in disbelief. Then he actually has the nerve to chuckle at me. "So we're not going to sleep in the same room, in the same bed? Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes, that is _exactly_ what I'm saying!"

"But we've been sleeping in the same bed for years?" He clearly isn't happy by my decided arrangement. He stands from the stool with a sigh, running his hand slowly through his hair. "You're my wife. I'm your husband. Isn't that what husbands and wives always do? Sleep together in the same bed?"

"Yeah, well, that was _before_ I found out you lied to me. Night, _Trev_." He curses beneath his breath as if he believes I'm being so unfair. But am I being unfair here? Surely not. He deserves this in my view.

At that, I turn on my heel, striding and darting to the other room in the suite.

 **Thank you all so much for your kind supportive words. This chapter is a bit lighter hopefully than the recent two. I would love to know your thoughts as usual. Hoping my writing is OK. If not, let me know if there is some wording issues or wrong phrases. I try write and post a chapter every week, time just has not been kind to me at times so that is reason for delays. P.S, Stupid me forgot to add what I had planned with the whole explanation for the lipstick/assumed-cheating scenario. Sorry, I'll get to it next chapter, I just get so wrapped up when writing.**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

In the other room in the suite, all by myself in the large bed, I find it impossible to sleep. I'm not sure if that's because my mind refuses to tick off or if it's simply because I'm honestly not used to sleeping in a very large bed all by myself now that I've been married to Christian for quite a few years.

I've gotten used to sleeping next to him so now, spreading out with my legs and arms only to find the whole entire space next to me completely bare, it feels odd.

I sigh loudly as I roll onto my back with a frown. I feel bone-tired yet my mind won't cooperate with me. Today has been so hectic and wild. I still don't know all the answers about what is happening and Christian hasn't given them all to me.

I wonder who is after us, though. Obviously it has something to do with Christian's work. Not as a CEO as I initially thought and had believed but as a... undercover agent or something. I still can't help but to beat myself up for not seeing it in advance. I had been so blind and so trusting, completely believing everything the man had said. But now when I think about it, there were actually a few signs that I hadn't picked up on.

My mind drifts off to other things that had happened between us after we'd met; Things I hadn't even bothered to question at the time yet now with the knowledge of Christian's true profession, it begins to make sense. Like the time we'd gone out for a date to this carnival place where they held games...

...

"How cute is that?" I had pointed out to Christian as we'd walked down the alley together, hand-in-hand, looking at all the fun games lined up in the stalls. We had walked past some balloon dart game where you had to pop most of the balloons to get your prize.

Next to that stall was a game where you used a paintball gun thingy to shoot at a few moving targets. One of the prizes was this huge love heart cushion that I instantly had my eye on.

We'd stopped right at the stall as I had pointed out to Christian the adorable love heart cushion. It was probably the biggest prize there.

"You want it?" he'd asked me.

"It's the biggest prize though. You'll probably have to shoot all the targets to win it."

"Easy." I remember feeling so amazed by Christian's easy confidence as he spoke to the man behind the stall while pulling out his wallet to pay for a game. "How many do I have to shoot to win the love heart cushion?" he'd asked the man while paying for a game.

"You have to hit above seven in a row with the gun," the man informed us. Above seven moving targets?

"Sounds simple enough," Christian had said, unfazed. The man showed him how to operate the gun and where the trigger was while I watched nervously.

It had seemed so difficult and at that point in our relationship, I wasn't sure whether Christian was a sore loser or not. If he lost, I'd hate for him to be sulking and moody all the way home.

"Um, I think it'll be too hard," I'd said while standing directly next to him. "Any prize is great. It's OK if you don't win the cushion. Really."

"You want the cushion, baby." Christian had turned to give me a look while setting the butt of the paint gun on his right shoulder, getting into a stance with his legs a width apart. He crooked his index finger over the trigger, lining it up to one of the targets, getting ready. "Whatever my girl wants, she gets it."

I'd laughed off his comment about him getting me whatever I want, because I knew this wouldn't be easy and he'd probably be upset if he lost. The man had pressed a little switch and the game had started with silly flashing lights and carnival clown music, the targets beginning to move in a line.

It had all happened so quickly, really. I'd stood a few inches away to give Christian some space while he got into it, squeezing down on the trigger; A determined, deadly serious look in his eyes and on his face. I'd never seen him look so absorbed as he concentrated on something before.

 _Thack!_ He hit the first moving target. _Thack!_ Then the one right next to it.

 _Thack! Thack!_ Two more targets shot. Both me and the man that owned the game were surprised at this point at Christian's effortless skill. It had been so sexy and admittedly, I think my admiration for the man I was dating had shot up sky-high level.

Barely a quick and speedy thirty seconds later, the game had ended, the flashing lights and music shutting off. The owner had looked very disappointed with himself as he reached down beneath the table, grabbing a new love heart cushion for me which I accepted with glee, hugging it tightly in both arms.

"Well done," the man had said grudgingly to Christian, his face red.

"Beginners luck," Christian had muttered back coolly, then he'd reached over to wrap his arm around my neck loosely, the pair of us walking away.

It had been so impressive. I knew those carnival games were not the easiest and often they were rigged. I honestly hadn't expected Christian to have won me the cushion I'd wanted.

"Wow," I'd gushed, looking down at the fluffy heart cushion in my arms as I squeezed it. "You were amazing back there. Have you played that game before?"

"Never. Like I said to the man in the stall, baby, it was beginner's luck. And besides," he'd added, leaning down towards my ear, his voice softer, sensual, "Like I also said. What my girl wants, she gets."

"You definitely know how to make a girl feel special," I'd whispered back contently. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

...

Now when I think back to that moment, I begin to see it a whole lot differently than I initially did. Christian must know how to operate guns and aim precisely with his job. If so, then it's truly no wonder he had been so skilled at aiming at targets.

And how he's such a polyglot! His fluency in so many different languages that I've always found so sexy, his seeming ability to easily speak in different languages. I had just assumed he was so cultured, so worldly. When really, I suppose, it probably helped with his profession, being able to speak fluently in different languages in order to fly under the radar. One particular special moment comes back to me..

...

Christian on his knees below me, dressed in nothing but his boxer briefs. Me in just my bra and underwear.

We'd been dating over two months when he'd finally said it. And like the awestruck, foolishly smitten woman I was, I hadn't thought much into it at all.

He had always been an incredible lover. When we'd first been together, I couldn't have believed my luck. Even two months in, I was still deliriously happy. He was on his knees kneeling down at my feet, making me feel like he was worshiping every inch of me. His masculine coarse hands were trailing up and down the length of my bare legs, from my very ankles, up towards my inner thighs and straight back down again. Every now and then, he'd assault me with surprise kisses in between, his mouth and lips warm.

And then he'd started as I'd reached down, grasping his head with a groan, twisting my fingers into the thick strands of his hair as he began nuzzling at my legs with his nose, his face.

"Ich liebe dich," he'd murmured throatily into my inner thigh, breathing all over me. I'd recognized the language immediately though I did not speak it myself. I had no idea what he was saying at the time.

"German?" I'd murmured hoarsely, my navel jolting as he'd lifted his head, his hands gliding up past the band of my underwear to my hips. He'd squeezed gently with his fingertips as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss into the middle of my belly, just inches above my belly button.

"Jag älskar dig," he'd breathed next, his parted lips mashing into my skin. When I hadn't said anything, remaining silent while trying to place the language, he'd said "Swedish" into my hipbone.

"So that was Swedish this time?" I'd whispered down at him, still unsure what he was saying. "You _do_ realize I have no idea what your saying to me, don't you?" I giggled when he'd began alternating with soft kisses and using his teeth, nipping at my skin gently.

He'd reached down with his hands again, running them down to the back of my calves. Then he'd lifted them higher, up around the back of my thighs, over my buttocks still covered with the material of my underwear.

"Je t'aime," he'd breathed effortlessly, the language curling off his tongue as he leaned forward on his knees.

"Shit," I'd sighed with a smile as he pressed a kiss straight through the fabric at the front of my underwear, making me feel him _right there_. My breathing had become shallow and too-loud as he'd paid me a lot of attention down there, tilting his head and covering me down there through the thin cotton of my underwear with his mouth. I could feel him, straight through the fabric. Immediately, I had grown moist and hot. "French? I know that's French but as you know, I'm not the best at speaking it fluently?"

He'd moved back to peer up at me, something intense and meaningful shining in his gray eyes. He'd licked his lips as I gently ran my fingers through his thick hair, through the back of it and at the nape of his neck, caressing his head.

"What are you saying?" I'd asked urgently, feeling really confused.

"I'm saying that I..." He'd paused, an air of anxiety coming over him that I hadn't seen from him before. Usually he had seemed so confident, so in-control and smooth. He'd ran his fingers slowly down my legs again tenderly as he held my gaze, "Ana, baby, I... I'm saying that I love you."

That was the first time he had ever told me that and my heart had jolted in my chest, my throat closing over my emotion, with happiness and intense joy.

"You were telling me that you love me?" I'd asked, stunned, as I cupped his face in my hands. "In German and Swedish? French too?"

"I was. I do."

It had been the most romantic yet sexiest thing a man had ever done to me; Proclaiming his love hotly in multiple languages.

"I do too, you know," I had declared back, in my voice unsteady. "I was just holding off saying it until you said it first." Clasping my hands over his face tighter, I'd bent down, pressing my lips hard against his, trying to push all my happiness and emotion into the kiss.

He'd leaned back with a low hiss through his teeth as he muttered, "You do too -what?"

"I love you too," I'd explained and the look on his face, the sheer relief and pleasure on it, as if he'd began to doubt whether I'd felt the same way or not, it had taken my breath away.

Tears had sprung to my eyes emotionally as he had gotten up to his feet, reaching up to grasp my face between his hands. He'd chuckled in what seemed immense relief and I'd laughed too, then we were both laughing, deliriously happy.

And then he'd kissed me and I was kissing him back while wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, thinking I was so pleased that I had at last found someone who I had loved and they had seemed to love me back, every single part of me.

...

Things had seemed so happy back then when I was more ignorant and blissfully unaware. I honestly had no idea Christian wasn't truly the hot-shot, well-paid CEO he'd said he was. He had covered his tracks well though, without garnering any suspicion from me whatsoever.

He'd worked nine to five hours, just as he said he did. When I wanted to surprise him at work, he'd always ask that I tell him beforehand first- something I probably should have found was suspicious.

He'd then ask for us to meet at some restaurant and he'd introduce me to some employer that was there as well. Sometimes a blonde woman he'd claim was an assistant when really, I realize now, they were probably in on the lie too to cover their tracks. I'd taken his word for it so many times without once suspecting anything was different.

I suppose that's partly my fault; I had been so wrapped up in everything that I just completely forgot to truly pay attention.

 _He still hasn't explained to me about the stain though..._ I think that terrifies me most of all, the idea that he is cheating. Maybe even more so than any of this other stuff, like his job and the fact his real first name is Trevelyan rather than Christian.

If it turns out that he _is_ in fact having an affair...

I think that would devastate me most of all, much as I am mad at him and confused about him lying about his entire job thing and whatever the hell is happening right now with people after us with guns trying to kill us.

Despite my madness, I still love him regardless of finding out he had lied about a few several things about himself. And he'd assured to me that our marriage and us, it wasn't a cover like I'd suspected. If that part involving us _was_ true, then should it matter so much- the profession and the name- if his heart was truly involved in this, just as mine was?

We'd had some great times together. Him winning me the best prize at a carnival game stall was definitely one of them. So was the first time we had actually admitted to loving each other, two months into our relationship. Meeting his family had been real; Getting along really well with his little sister Mia, and his brother Elliot, and his mother Grace and father Carrick- that had to be real as well. You couldn't fake something like that.

All our laughter and tender kisses; our talks of starting a family together and having a real good future. Surely they couldn't be something easily faked either, could they?

And lying in bed, all alone in the Cascade Suite of some fancy hotel under the alias Mr and Mrs Taylor- it has definitely given me time to find a better perspective on things.

It just isn't the same sleeping in an overly large bed without Christian in it with me. And it's obvious my mind notices and refuses to switch off mainly due to that. With a heavy sigh, I sit up against the headboard, reaching over to turn on the old antique lamp by the dresser. I know I'd said earlier while helping patch up his injured arm that I would have preferred to sleep alone for once. But it's impossible without him.

Throwing the duvet off, I get to my feet, padding my way down the hallway towards the other room that he's in. Immediately I know he's awake the instance I hear the noises coming straight through the opened doorway in the room he is occupying; He's still awake, watching the TV in the room, I think. So he has a TV in the room as well?

In all the 4 years I've known him, Christian has never been overly enthusiastic about watching television- having preference for being active and getting out and about in the world. He's always lectured me, explaining how television is a waste of time. And yet what do we have here?

I find him on top of the sheets laid out with his upper body still uncovered without a shirt aside from the bandage I'd wrapped around his wound on his forearm earlier, his legs crossed and head propped up against a pillow as he watches the images flickering on the screen. He must see me standing there, even in the dark without the hallway light on, because I see his head turn into my direction.

"I thought you said that we should sleep in separate rooms for tonight?" He's pointing it out to me, rubbing it all into my face, his voice both amused and surprised all at once at my coming to the room he's sleeping in.

"Yes, I did say that but then my mind refuses to sleep." I shrug and lean off the door frame, shuffling my feet against the carpet. "I think my brain likes it better and feels more safe when I'm sleeping next to you in bed." I reach the side of the mattress and gesture towards it uncertainly, "Can I?"

"Like you even need to ask," he mutters offhandedly with a shrug.

I take that as my invitation and I sit down, drawing my legs up, tucking them under my knees as I sit propped with my back up against the headboard next to him. Christian presses the remote to the flat screen again, flicking through different channels mindlessly.

"I thought you always said watching television is a waste of time?" I murmur with amusement as a yawn escapes my mouth.

"Oh, it is. I still feel that way." He finds a channel then stops on the late evening Seattle news, throwing the remote down carelessly on the bed near his foot.

Since it's dark with only the TV screen on illuminating everything, I stare at this man that is my husband. OK, so he lied about what he truly does for a living and he also neglected to tell me that his first name on his birth certificate is Trevelyan. Despite all that and despite the raging sense of betrayal I feel at him, I cannot help still being in love with him. He was my 1st boyfriend and my 1st ever committed relationship with a man. And then he'd asked me to marry him and suddenly things were so serious in ways I never dreamed of. How can I not still love him in some way?

"How's the arm?" I murmur quietly through the voices on the TV.

He turns to look at me in the dark. "It's doing better, baby. I'll survive."

"When's your birthday?" I ask before I can stop myself. I just wonder if there's anything more that he hasn't been completely honest about.

I can only just see his eyebrows arching at me incredulously in the dark. "You already know when my birthday is?"

"Right. So _it is_ truly June 18?" I have to say I'm relieved.

"Yes, it is actually June 18," he replies in an exaggeratedly slow voice. "What? You think I was lying even about my birthday to you?" He doesn't sound completely angry with me. Just a little amused and disbelieving.

"Well, no offense, but you've revealed quite some startling information to me within the past few hours. Sorry if I feel both the curiosity and the need to question everything."

"Well, let me make it clearer on you then," he begins softly. "June 18 is my birthday, as I've told you. Detroit is the place I was born in, as I told you." He starts counting off on his fingers one by one. I know he's just doing it to get a rise out of me but I'm too exhausted to argue again tonight. "I was adopted around four years old by Carrick and Grace Grey after my biological mother died."

"OK, OK," I whisper, frustrated. "I think I get it. Thank you for clarifying all of that up for me." His words in the car come back to me. "Please clarify and make this clearer on me as well so that I can start to understand," I begin gently.

"What?" he asks, and he settles himself in, leaning over on his good arm to stare at my face.

"So like you said when we met at France at the Inn near the markets that day, _you_ were the one responsible for all of those horrible explosives going off?"

"Yes, that's right," he murmurs, sounding pleased that I've started to understand.

"And like you also said, you were there not as a hot-shot CEO for some company to meet with shareholders but you were sent there to France to... to do some covert mission where you kill some terrorists with explosives?" Even as it comes out in one single breath, I have to try refrain from laughing. It all sounds so ridiculous, so James Bond. "You work for some government organisation that does that type of stuff?"

"That's right, baby." He runs his hand slowly through his hair, using his good arm. "I work for the CIA. Clandestine Services." It doesn't really make proper sense to me but I try to wrap my head around it any way. "I decided this was what I wanted to do as a career when I was around 18. I studied for a while to obtain my bachelors degree in both homeland security and criminology."

Now _that_ is what I cannot grasp my head around. The true him and his career is so far from the one he'd told me he was, how he had a bachelor's degree in business and finance. Why keep it from me?

"Why did you keep it from me all this time?" I demand, flabbergasted. "Why not just tell me? Wouldn't that have been easier than forcing yourself to lie about it to me?"

He sighs loudly through his mouth. "Baby, I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to," he says, his voice low with anxiety and empathetic. "I was sworn to secrecy and I didn't want to get you involved."

"Funny. I think we're both a little too much involved now though, aren't we?" I mutter dryly. "So is that sort of a prerequisite?" I ask curiously, thrown again by the fact that he is so good with speaking fluently in different languages.

"What's a prerequisite?"

"You know, with how you're so good with being able to speak different languages? The French and German? All of that? Is that something that's required with this job that you do?"

"It isn't always required but it certainly does help to make the job easier."

"And what about-" I begin, then hesitate, biting down on my lip as my stomach tightens into uncomfortable knots. A part of me needs to know about this most of all yet I'm also petrified to. "What about the stain on your shirt that I found while I went to wash it?" I turn my eyes onto him, trying to watch him carefully through the dark.

He's silent for a few moments as he brings up his hand to rub his fingers around his chin. It's almost like he's not completely sure what to say to me, but he has to have something to say about it, doesn't he?

"Where?" he asks finally, his voice tight. "You mention about this supposed stain on my shirt, but... whereabouts was it on the shirt exactly?"

I almost laugh out loud angrily at his question. How can he not really know the answer to that already? I mean, it's his shirt! "You never noticed any stain on your shirt?" I breathe out.

"Honestly? No, I didn't."

I don't know whether to believe him or not. My 1st impulse is to do anything but trust him. "Is there someone else?" I ask nervously, the question that's been haunting me ever since I 1st laid eyes on that stain that appears remarkably like a woman's lipstick.

"Why do you think there's someone else?" I really wish he'd just be straightforward and answer the damned question. "Just because you found some supposed stain on my shirt that I myself can't even remember?"

"God, please just tell me, Christian!" I snap.

"No! Is there someone else? The answer is a big resounding no!" he mutters, and he sounds exasperated and appalled, and so many other things at once. "This side of my life- this part with _you_ and _us_ \- I am perfectly content with. Why would I want to even jeopardize that or fuck it up by seeing someone else?"

Trying to seem nonchalant while asking but still dreading some horrible answer, I ask, "So there's never even once been someone else? Is that what your saying?"

"Yes! _Never_ has there been anyone else aside from you! You were the 1st woman who made me see that it was possible to still have a normal stable life with someone despite this other side of me when it came to my job!"

"OK, but the-"

"-Since when have I ever given you the impression that that was the sort of man that I was?" he asks and I hear a tone of hurt in his voice. I've offended him and I suppose I can't blame him for that. "That I was the type of man to go back against my vows and be unfaithful?"

I take a deep, steadying breath at his words. I still don't know what to think.

"Ana, baby, _look_ at me."

I lift up my chin, meeting his shining eyes in the dark nervously.

"Your the only one for me. I know that probably sounds like _just words_ to you but they're true."

I know he isn't lying then; I know there isn't another woman in his life then. But what of the lipstick stain on his shirt? I was so certain it were actually a woman's red lipstick!

Reaching over, he lays his hand on my bare kneecap. I really wish I wasn't just wearing my old flimsy camisole and satin shorts but at least he doesn't try doing anything else to me. He simply keeps his hand on my knee, stroking around it with his fingers. Barely a second later, I give in and crumble while covering my hand over his, tracing over his knuckles with my thumb.

"From this point forward, there will be no more distortions of the truth, OK?" He holds my gaze sincerely as he rubs my knee. "Anything you want to ask me, I _promise_ you it will be the absolute truth from this point forward no matter what. Whatever comes into your head, whatever you need to ask, just ask it and I'll answer as straightforwardly and as honest as humanly possible from this point on."

"OK," I agree softly. _But why say that now? Why wait 4 years into us being together to finally do that?_

As soon as I ponder that, I think I already have my answer. Why wait 4 years of us being together to finally do that? For him to answer whatever question comes into my mind as honestly as possible?

Because we're already in deep shit and we could die at any moment, that's why. We're already knee-deep in crap obviously and someone's out there after us, wanting to shoot us both.

Something distracts me and tears me away from Christian's voice momentarily. The images on the TV screen.

"Holy shit, Christian," I gasp out shakily. He looks over at what I'm looking at himself, and I notice him freeze and stiffen himself.

We're on TV. Both Christian and myself are on television on the news; A head shot of us both. And then, an even bigger shock, Jose Rodriguez is there being interviewed by a female reporter, speaking about the pair of us and how we seemed like your average normal happy couple.

"Here's your boyfriend," I hear Christian mutter bitterly at Jose's picture on the screen. "I knew he couldn't help himself."

I shoot him a warning glare while yanking my knee free from his hand. Jose Rodriguez is our next door neighbor back at our house. We've been invited over to his house several times for a few drinks and friendly get-togethers. I'm not sure why but Christian has always disliked Jose for some reason.

I think it's because Christian feels Jose wants into my pants simply because he's always been nice to me and he makes sure to say hello whenever I pull up into the driveway in my car. I honestly can't see where Christian gets that impression that Jose wants me, an already taken and married woman, all for himself.

"You really need to stop calling him my boyfriend." Christian opens his mouth to argue back but I shush him. I really want to hear this.

 _"Dios mío, it was so terrifying,"_ Jose says to the camera while holding a hand up to his chest in fright. _"I could have sworn it was gunshots going off in that house next door. Which is really strange because I used to have the Grey's over all the time and they were always so friendly and nice. You never would have thought they were the type of young couple to be in deep trouble."_

"Because he wants in your panties," I hear Christian mutter beneath his breath during Jose's speech.

"God, Christian! Just because he's always nice to me and he always wants to be a good neighbor by saying hello, it doesn't mean he wants in my panties!"

"Yes it does," he argues back. "Trust me, it does."

"Does not."

We're quiet for long enough to hear the reporter ask for any information on the whereabouts of the pair of us and that if anyone knows what has happened, could they please come forward. Apparently we have people searching for us after what happened with the shoot-out at our place. Concerned people want to know where we are, if we're still alive after the shooting or if it was terrorism or gang violence related.

"He wants in your panties," Christian says again as if I hadn't heard him the first time around. "Remember that weekend when he invited us over for wine? He was practically salivating at you!"

"Shut up! You think _everyone_ wants in my panties!"

He shifts his head side to side, deliberately feigning thought. Then he shrugs with his good arm. "Hmm, I suppose that's both a fair and true assessment."

Despite the gravity of our situation, I can't help giggling a little at us. It's ridiculous. Here we are, arguing and play-fighting over our neighbor when this is practically life or death.

"Seriously now and putting Jose Rodriguez aside, what are we going to do?" I ask out loud, trying to steer the conversation back where it should be. We should be serious and focused on this.

To my relief, Christian stops playing around. He sighs loudly while running a hand through his hair slowly. "Well, we can't tell anyone where we are right now. Not even if it's the news station wanting to know that we're all right."

"So who... who's after us?" I swear he has to know who is after us. He just has to.

"That's the problem. I'm not sure exactly who it is right now, but I _do_ have a few hunches."

"Care to enlighten me with those hunches then?" I prompt.

"I have a feeling it's to get back at me." He uses his fingers to rub around his forehead area, like he's having a migraine or headache developing.

"Get back at you for what?"

"Because of my job. Clearly I upset someone and now... _now_ they want us dead." My heart races at his ominous words as my body goes icy cold with fear. He says it so calmly. 'Now they want us dead'. It's like he's speaking of anything other than the fact that people want us dead.

"Those people that shot at the house? The ones inside with the guns that you managed to fight off?"

"What about them?"

"Well, could you recognize any of them at all? Did you think of taking off one of their masks to see who they were?"

"I took off both of the men's from downstairs," he explains quietly. "Thing is, I didn't recognize their faces. I haven't dealt with those men before."

"Y-you think you'd remember them if you had?"

Christian turns to give me a look, one I can't really describe accurately in the dark. "I definitely would remember them if I _had_ dealt with them before. Believe it or not, I'm not one to forget faces easily."

My throat tightens, my voice hoarse and unsteady, "But someone obviously sent them off to our house to kill the both of us?"

"If they had guns, baby, I'd say that's likely and safe to assume."

It's horrifying, the thought that people are out there to kill us. And they had been so close earlier tonight. If it hadn't been for Christian being a capable enough fighter to knock them out then... I hate to think what could have happened. And not to mention how I had been getting prepared to leave him because of my assumption that he'd been having an affair.

I shudder at the thought of what may have happened if Christian hadn't been able to somewhat get through to me earlier tonight and delay me leaving the house. Would these people have followed straight after me in the car after leaving both Christian and the house? Would they have shot straight through the glass windows of my car as I drove away. Would they have even possibly kidnapped me or brutally assaulted me if they had the chance to? Probably.

It's scary to know how close we came earlier tonight. I really do have Christian to thank for making sure I stayed upstairs in the bedroom with the door locked the way he had.

Guilt crushes deep into my heart as I shudder again. I had been so horrible tonight, treating Christian so badly. Hurling accusations at him when, really, I should have been thanking him all along. He protected me tonight. He's the true reason I'm here the way I am now, safe in the warm and cozy Cascade Suite with him, alive and unharmed while he fared worse than I did.

Him getting his forearm slashed by the man with the knife downstairs... Him having endured a bloody nose from what was probably a vicious punch. He'd done all that to protect me tonight.

And yet I had treated him so badly.

 **thanks so much for your reviews and the very encouraging alerts, I honestly didn't think someone would like this plot much. hopefully some things are answered and that you are still interested? as for the stain thing, its half answered for now and will be another additional plot point as the story progresses. i apologize again if my writing is not very good in both style and word wise. as always advice is happy accepted if you have any.**


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